Reflections
by SSAEmilyHotchner
Summary: While being held captive by her nemesis, Ian Doyle, Emily reflects on some of their better memories. Contains spoilers for 6x18, "Lauren."
1. Chapter One: Four Leaf Clover

**Author's Note: There are no words to describe my love for this episode. It was absolutely perfect. Paget's acting...good God, where is her Emmy? The emotion she put into every single word, the tears...everything. It shattered my heart into millions of tiny pieces. Oh yes, and Timothy V. Murphy was simply _amazing. _And my God, the directing! Matthew Gray Gubler is sheer _genius_. And to have had Paget request him as the director of her last (and 101st) episode...that's just special. Not only the acting and directing, but the music in the background...every single element of the episode made it STELLAR. I could go on and on forever. The entire cast - Shemar, AJ, Thomas, Matthew, Joe, Kirsten, Rachel and all the guest stars, too - was perfect. _All _of them. The magic of "Lauren" couldn't have happened without all the actors, because, just like in the BAU, every single member is integral.**

**If only CBS would see that.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Criminal Minds, Paget (and AJ, for that matter) would stay on the show forever.**

* * *

Emily Prentiss woke slowly, her eyes fluttering open from the sunlight peeping through the blinds. Still tired, she burrowed further into the sheets, covering her face with the pillow to block out noises coming from the downstairs living room. It was when she breathed in deeply, a strangely alluring masculine scent mixed with sweat and sex flooding her senses, that she realized something wasn't normal.

She sat up abruptly in bed, her gaze immediately falling on the peacefully sleeping form of Ian Doyle. Forcing herself to steady her erratically beating heart, it took her a split second to realize that _nothing_was wrong. After all, she wasn't Emily Prentiss anymore.

She was Lauren Reynolds, arms dealer and lover of none other than Valhalla himself, the freelancing IRA captain who the team of her alter persona was itching to get their hands on. _This_ was her 'normal' now.

Running her hands over her face, Emily let out a heavy sigh as she heard loud peals of laughter coming from a young child downstairs.

Oh, Declan…

Emily couldn't help but smile as she thought of the adorable little boy. She loved him so much. _Genuinely _loved him. And even though she knew that Ian was a decent father who cared immensely for his son, she wasn't just going to sit there and watch Ian shape Declan into a 'warrior,' when he had a chance for a safer, better life.

The rest of her thoughts were interrupted as she heard footsteps racing up the stairs, the boy on her mind entering the bedroom with a huge grin plastered on his face. "Hi," he murmured almost shyly.

"Hey, sweetheart," Emily – no, Lauren – grinned back, taking Declan into her arms and seating him on the bed beside her and his sleeping father. "You okay?"

He nodded, then looked at his father quizzically. "Daddy's still asleep?"

"Mm-hmm, so we have to be quiet or else he'll wake up. And he might even bring the tickle monster with him," she added playfully, lowering her voice dramatically.

Declan giggled. "Daddy's not the tickle monster."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot…_I_ am!" And at that, she launched her assault, in love with the sound of his gleeful laughter.

"Stop!" he squealed, trying in vain to shield himself from the onslaught.

Finally, she relented. "I'm not through with you, young man," she teased. "However, I guess I'll stop before your father actually does wake up."

"It's a bit late for that, love."

Emily spun towards his voice, her curls spilling off her shoulders and down her back in the process. "I'm sorry," she said, taking the corner of her lip in between her teeth.

He let out a chuckle as his darkened eyes met hers. "Don't be. I'll just let you make it up to me later today," he added huskily, his Irish accent adding to the quality of seduction.

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine, and she thanked her lucky stars that Ian hadn't seen; he had been busy with Declan.

"Go on and ask Louise for some breakfast," Ian told him, idly running his fingers through Emily's hair. "Lauren and I will be down there in a minute."

After the boy left, Ian brought Emily up for a long, passionate kiss. "Good morning, beautiful."

She shot him a smile. "Good morning, handsome." _Why was this so easy?_

…Maybe because she wanted it so badly. She wanted a family, she wanted children of her own – not with Doyle, no, certainly not – but when he and Declan were _right there_…it was impossible to resist.

"You hungry?" he asked, his lips hunting across her jaw.

"Yes. But not in the way you are," she said knowingly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hmm…are you sure?"

"One hundred percent."

"It's probably because I wore you out last night," he said, a cocky look on his face. "I didn't work you up too hard, did I?"

"Oh, Ian…you worked me up _just right_," she answered, her voice breathy. Almost…seductive.

_Who was she becoming?_

Right as he was about to move in for another breathtaking kiss, Emily playfully shoved him aside. "Now go. I need a shower."

"Want company?" he asked slyly.

She answered him with a slight roll of her eyes and a look that visibly said, "Leave."

Laughing quietly, he made his way to the door. "Alright, alright. I'll go." He shot her a roguishly handsome grin. "I love you, Lauren."

"And I love _you_, Ian," she responded without thought, the words leaving her lips at their own volition.

As soon as he left her alone in the room, Emily let her head fall back onto the pillow. Releasing a sigh of defeat, she covered her face with her hands as she felt tears clawing at her eyes.

How the hell was she getting out of this one?

~.~.~

Hearing his footsteps approaching behind her, Emily braced herself for the torture that was sure to happen. Instead, she felt Ian's hands weave through her hair slowly, the action so familiar that it tore her heart to pieces.

"I hate you, Ian," she choked out, blinking rapidly to clear her suddenly cloudy vision.

He snorted humorlessly. "Sure you do, love. Sure you do." It was silent for a while before he asked, "Where's my ring?"

Nervous laughter spilled from her lips. "I flushed it."

He chuckled wryly along with her, stroking the skin at the base of neck unconsciously. "I spent seven years in hell because of that ring." Emily shut her eyes as she felt his hands creeping down the front of her shirt, undoing the top two buttons at an almost leisurely pace. Unwillingly, thousands of memories flooded her thoughts. Memories of times that began with that same touch…

Yet it was different now. She hadn't been tied to a chair with no ability to move eight years ago. She had been free. She had been…in love…

"So now," he continued, his rough, wandering hands caressing her satin-cased breasts, "I'm going to give you another gift. One you won't get rid of so easily."

Bile rose in her throat as cool, damp air hit her almost bare chest. As Ian walked away from her, her breathing began to become shallow, trepidation washing over her as she heard his voice yet again, this time from the corner of the room.

"A four-leaf clover should be a nice addition to your other tattoos," he continued, rolling over a cart on which an old, rusty looking machine sat. "You still have two, right?"

"Yup," she answered concisely, her breathing hard. "And that's enough ink, thanks."

He laughed, flipping a switch to turn on the machine. "Ink? North Koreans can't afford ink," he informed her, shooting her a smugly arrogant smile. "No, no…they _brand_ themselves."

Emily could do nothing but watch as Doyle turned the heat higher, bringing the singing-hot metal 'pen' too close for her liking. She yelled in protest as he pulled her head back by her hair, exposing her whole, heaving chest to his gaze.

Holding her back as she tried to struggle, Ian said, "The more you fight, the more this'll hurt," and Emily could _hear_ the smile in his voice.

But that didn't matter, because soon, Emily was screaming in agony, the smell of burning flesh filling the room.

And all went black.


	2. Chapter Two: Reprieve

**Author's Note: I originally planned on making this story a one-shot, but then I realized that there was so much more about Lauren Reynolds to be told. So much more to be written. So, since everyone has been wondering about Emily's other two tattoos - myself included - I decided to run with that idea and create a memory that could have happened and, for all we know, did. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Criminal Minds, Paget (and AJ, for that matter) would stay on the show forever.**

* * *

Ian trailed his fingers across Emily's bare spine, his gaze set on her face as she let out a pleased sigh and tossed him a smile.

"Ian…"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice still groggy from sleep.

"Admiring your gorgeous body." There was a pause. "And trying to decipher the meaning of your two tattoos." He pressed his lips to her shoulder, right above the ink there. "Why a phoenix?"

"Freedom and invincibility," she said simply, her chocolate brown eyes burning into his. "I got it on my eighteenth birthday. Phoenixes, when they die, are born again from their ashes. It's kind of a safety net for me, you know? Goes well with the job description," she said with a wry chuckle. "The symbolism of indestructibility and recovery. Also, like most birds, they can fly away. I couldn't until then. It was like a personal rebellion against my parents, I guess," she said with an elegant shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He fell quiet, his mind somewhere else.

"What are you thinking about?"

He chuckled softly. "I'm trying to imagine a teenage Lauren Reynolds."

Emily scoffed. "Don't bother. I was a strange child – not at all like I am today." _Certainly not,_ she added. _Emily Prentiss wouldn't fall in love with an arms dealer. No, that's all Lauren. Lauren, not Emily, _she assured herself.

"Everyone's strange at that age," Ian mused, his eyes travelling to her lower back, his lips not far behind. "And…this one?" he murmured against the sensitive skin there.

"Got it the summer after I graduated college and got accepted into the aca –" _Oh shit, that's too much. Too much information._

Doyle, pre-occupied with peppering kisses everywhere on Lauren's body – Lauren, not Emily – didn't notice her fumble. "Where'd you go to college?"

"Brown," Emily answered without hesitation, immediately spitting out the first college that came to mind. "

Any college but Yale.

"Hmm…interesting. 'Féminité, bravoure, intégrité'," he read aloud. Chuckling, he said, "For a second there, I thought it was 'fidélité, bravoure, intégrité', and I was about to…" He trailed away, not noticing Emily's sigh of relief.

_He hadn't made the connection. Calm down, Emily. Calm down._

"Why is it in French?" he continued, his curiosity apparently never-ending.

"I went to France that summer," Emily explained, clearing her voice to stop it from quavering. "A couple of friends and I. We each chose three nouns that defined us. And well…those are mine."

He nodded. "You chose well."

She closed her eyes, remembering the _real_ reason of the tattoo. After being accepted into the Academy, her parents had given her money and she had travelled to France _alone_. There, she _had_ gotten 'fidélité, bravoure, intégrité'; the motto of the FBI. It was a…celebration, of sorts. But after working a couple of years in Chicago and seeing her partner get gunned down right in front of her…she realized she couldn't remain conscientious in a world where fidelity, faithfulness, loyalty…where that all meant nothing. Where innocent people were shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or for absolutely no reason at all.

Rules were meant to be broken, after all.

It was then that she had become the full fledged rebel she was today. So, years later, she changed 'fidélité' to 'féminité.' It was hard to be a woman, _especially_ a beautiful one, in a testosterone-fueled environment like the FBI, where everyone expected you to be one of the boys. Her tattoo, therefore, became a daily reminder of who she was, and of the morals that guided her through life, day after day.

At once, she became aware that Ian was calling her.

"Lauren?"

"Oh. Sorry."

He looked at her intently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "_Now_ who's deep in thought?" he teased. "Falling asleep on me…you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Miss Reynolds," he added, feigning disappointment.

"My sincerest apologies. Although, if I remember correctly, you woke me from an extremely good nap. So, I believe it is _you_ who ought to be ashamed, Mr. Doyle," she retorted smartly, a ridiculously beautiful smirk dancing across her lips.

"You're right," he admitted, raising his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry, love." He brushed her hair away from her face idly. "Go back to sleep; I'll be here when you wake."

_Great_, she thought sarcastically. "Good," she answered instead, shooting him a tired smile before closing her eyes once more and chasing her demons away.

~.~.~

"Why are you doing this?" Emily asked weakly, regaining consciousness. Her skin was still on fire from the brand Doyle had given her. "Why are you keeping me alive?"

He said nothing, focusing instead on re-buttoning her blouse. Liam entered then, bringing with him news that made Emily's blood run cold.

"Hey. FBI grabbed Fahey. _Her_ people. It won't be long until he starts grilling, and they're banging on our door." He pulled out a gun and motioned for Doyle to take it. "Do what you have to so we can get the hell out of here."

Ian stood, eying the gun with interest, the expression on his face one of serious contemplation.

And that worried Emily. _A lot._

"I know what you want," she said instantly, her voice cracking slightly.

"Do you really?" Ian retorted, his gaze still on the gun.

"You want Lauren Reynolds back. I can do that," she said, her eyes pleading as she looked up at him. "I can be her."

Finally, he looked her in the eyes. "You think that'll save your skin?" he asked incredulously.

She shook her head, the action causing her hair to fall in her face. "I have no illusions. But I'm _tired_ of this." A beat of silence passed. "Of being afraid."

Ian studied the woman in front of him. She was almost in tears…but she was a damn good actress, that much he had learned from her when she had been undercover.

When she had been Lauren Reynolds, the love of his life.

No, he wouldn't let this woman, this…this…_temptress_ get to him any longer. Those days were long gone.

"We don't have time for this," Liam scowled.

"We'll make time," Ian said lowly, the tone of his voice not allowing for any argument. His eyes still burned into Emily's, and it was beginning to make her extremely uncomfortable. Even more so than being bound to a chair by her hands and feet.

Ian had always liked being in control.

"What about Fahey?" Liam asked, once again breaking the tension and bringing them back to reality.

"I'll take care of Fahey."

_The same way you took care of me that day in the SUV? _Emily wanted to ask. _I highly doubt it._

Needless to say, she kept her mouth shut.

"He smokes, right?" Doyle continued.

"Aye."

Turning his attention back to Emily (it hadn't been gone long), he smiled bitterly and said, "Looks like you earned yourself a reprieve."

And Emily could do nothing but wait.


	3. Chapter Three: Victorious

**Author's Note: Well, this is it. I debated making the end scene (with Derek) an epilogue, but I decided it flowed better this way. Hopefully you will feel the same. :) I definitely could not re-read/write this without the gorgeous cello theme playing in my memory...God, it just seems like everything about that episode was _perfect._**

**Probably because it was.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Criminal Minds, Paget (and AJ, for that matter) would stay on the show forever.**

* * *

Feeling someone tugging at her sleeve, Emily glanced downwards, smiling as she realized it was Declan. Running her fingers through his mess of white-blonde curls, she asked, "What's up, sweetheart?"

He returned her smile. "Let's play hide and seek tag," he urged, his sharp blue eyes pleading.

"Hide and seek tag? Oh, gosh, that sounds complicated," she joked, kneeling to his height so that they were on eye level.

He shook his head adamantly. "It's not! It's just like hide and seek except the seeker is 'it' and the hider has to run to base before the seeker catches him," the boy explained on one breath.

"Alright." Emily clapped her hands together. "What is this base of ours?"

Declan glanced around the spacious, beautiful front lawn, his gaze finally resting on his father, who was standing on the balcony, watching them with interest. "Daddy is."

"Daddy's base?" Ian caught her eye and grinned. Smiling, Emily turned back to Declan. "Sounds good to me, young man. I'll be 'it.'"

"No," the boy protested with a slight frown. "You were 'it' last time and you found me real easily. _I'll_ be 'it.'" And without any further fanfare, he shut his eyes as tightly as possible, and began to count to ten.

"…seven…eight…nine…ten!"

But when he opened his eyes again, she was _gone._

"Lauren?" he asked tentatively, aimlessly wandering the yard. "…Lauren?"

"She's behind the tree."

Emily gasped theatrically. "Ian! How dare you! Spoiling all the fun…" But the sparkle in her eye and the coy smile playing at her lips told him that she was just joking, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Declan giggled. "I'm gonna get you!"

At that, she made her escape, running across the yard, into the house, and up the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached Ian. Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him in front of her, safely guarding her from the boy. She let out a breathless laugh as Declan came racing onto the balcony mere seconds later. "Ha! I beat you, Declan," she exclaimed triumphantly.

He leaned against the wall for support as he tried to catch his breath, "You're a _fast_ runner," he said between pants.

_I've had to do it too often for my liking. _"I try, I try."

Maneuvering around in her arms to face her, he said, "I think Lauren deserves a kiss since she's out ever-so-skillful winner," his eyes all the while on her. "What do you think, Declan?"

Beaming, the boy climbed onto one of the many balcony chairs and pressed his lips to Emily's cheek. "I love you, Lauren," she heard him say. "Even if you did beat me. Twice."

Emily felt her heart stop at his words. "I love you, too, Declan. _So_ much," she whispered, enveloping him in a tight hug and kissing his forehead lightly.

For once, Emily _wanted_ to be Lauren Reynolds. She wanted to be the mother figure that the child in her arms loved so dearly. Not Emily; Declan knew no Emily Prentiss. And that broke her heart.

Ian smiled almost tenderly at the sight before him, before saying, "Hey, don't forget about me."

_I couldn't if I tried_, she thought bitterly. "I wouldn't dare dream about any such thing," she assured, kissing him as well.

"Good," he chuckled. "Because I got you something. A bit of a…consolation prize, if you will." Grinning, he handed her a perfect purple lily.

"A flower from your own garden. I'm touched, Ian," she teased.

"Not just any flower. I picked the most beautiful one for the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes one. Besides, Declan helped me."

"Well, in that case, I _love_ it," she said, picking the child up and twirling him around, much to his delight.

Ian chuckled. "Sometimes, I swear you love my son more than you love me."

"Sometimes, I swear you are so clueless," she retorted smartly. _Good God, are you that blind? This is _all_ a charade. I _don't_ love you! At all!_

"Although, you certainly showed me otherwise last night…" He cleared his throat as he watched Declan dash away to try and capture some butterfly he had seen flit past. Turning to Emily, he reached forward and fingered the necklace he had given her. With a sigh, he said, "I know we've talked about this many times before, and each time, your decision has remained the same. But…Lauren, Declan needs a mother. He needs _you_." There was a pause. "_I _need you." Taking her hands in his, he asked, his voice worn, "Why won't you marry me?"

_Look at me, _she remembered him saying after he had presented the ring to her._ I am Valhalla. I have no idea what kind of life we're going to have, but…I just want you in mine._

"I can't, Ian," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"But why?" he persisted. "I can change my ways. I promise I will. Yes, I'm a warrior, and yes, I can't just walk away from that lifestyle…but I would find a way to do that for you. I would do _anything_ for you," he said, desperation coloring his voice.

"It's not that. You…you wouldn't understand." _Or_ _rather, you would and you'd kill me_, she finished in her thoughts.

"Then explain it to me. If not for me…do it for Declan. _Please_, Lauren." He brought her hands to his lips. "Please."

She closed her eyes, wishing he hadn't brought the gorgeous boy into the question. It just made it that much harder to refuse, which had probably been his intention.

"I'm not…I'm not stable, Ian. I don't want to make a commitment to you and your son, and then have you wake up one day and realize that I had disappeared. I can't do that to you, and I won't," she said with finality.

"So don't disappear. If…if someone's after you, if _that's_ what this is about…I can get you out," he said, repeating his words from a conversation they'd had long ago.

Or at least, it seemed like long ago. In reality, it had only been a month or two. Emily was floored as she realized that barely two months ago, she had been her true self. Barely two months ago, she had discovered that Declan was not Louise's.

And that he could be hers.

"We could escape, just the three of us," Ian continued. "You would be safe. And Declan would have a family."

"Ian…please."

The break in her voice and the look in her eyes forced him to stop prodding, and with a heavy sigh, he pulled her into his arms, effectively dropping the subject.

For the time being, at least.

~.~.~

Enraged, Ian slapped Emily hard across the face, eliciting a pained cry from her lips. Grabbing her by both shoulders, he lifted her and pushed her up against the wall roughly.

"What did you do? You put him in the profile, _what else did you do?_" he demanded, shaking her shoulders and causing her head to fall back against the bricks.

Stars clouded her vision. She could feel blood slowly trickling down from the cut on her right cheekbone. "I put him in th- the profile after the pictures were taken."

He moved so that there was literally no space between them. "You don't know when those pictures were taken," Doyle argued. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," she insisted, rolling her neck painfully. "I'm the one holding the gun, she said, looking him straight in the eye and watching, in turn, as his eyes darkened and widened in fury.

Fire now running through his veins, Ian let out an angered roar as he grabbed Emily and flung her into a neighboring metal storage shelf, pushing her to the ground soon after. He felt absolutely no remorse as he watched her, just lying there.

She tried to hold back an uncharacteristic whimper, but it was torn from her lips nonetheless. The pain was just _too_ much. Still, she persevered. She was flat-out challenging him now, but she didn't care. The fact that she could feel pain meant she was alive.

And in her book, that was all that mattered.

Propping herself up on her elbows to look at him properly, she asked, between heaving breaths, "You want to hear his last words to me?" a devilish smile hinting at her lips.

With an incoherent yell, Doyle kicked her as hard as he possibly could in the ribs, and she swore she felt one of them break.

"He said," she continued, breathing suddenly impossible, "'I looked pretty good for a dead kid, didn't I?' And then he got…on the plane…and I never saw him again."

"_He's alive_?" he roared, his eyes wide as he delivered another terrifyingly powerful kick.

_There goes another rib. _Emily let out a choked scream of protest, trying in vain to make her lungs work. Her wrists ached from the cold metal tightly binding them together. "Just because I held a gun to him…doesn't mean I shot him. I…I only had to make you and the North Koreans believe he was dead."

Disgusted at the mere sight of the woman before him, he pulled her up by the hair in a very Benjamin Cyrus-esque fashion, and shoved her up against the wall once more. "No, you're lying!" he yelled, pulling out his gun, finally ready to end this once and for all.

To end _her._

He underestimated her strength, however, letting out a surprised groan as Emily elbowed him in the gut and wrapped her arm forcefully around his neck in a chokehold, effectively cutting off his air supply.

"I beat you, Ian," she exclaimed with both bitter and triumphant laughter, kicking him to the ground as he tried unsuccessfully to stand. "Before you even got out of North Korea, I beat you," she added, an almost crazed tone to her voice. "Because _I gave Declan his life back._"

"I'll find him," Doyle promised, still struggling against her death grip.

"No, you won't," she retorted. "Ever since you told me my people had Fahey, _I've been stalling you._"

And then, the entire room was cloaked in darkness.

Looking around in confusion, Emily's one second stumble gave Doyle all the time he needed to propel her backwards, where together they fell in a heap on an aged wooden table, their combined weight shattering it to pieces.

Climbing off of Ian's chest, where she had landed barely seconds before, she grabbed a broken table leg and beat him in the face with it once, twice, _three_ times, dropping it in a moment of weakness.

But once again, Ian used it to his advantage, grabbing the sharpened piece of wood and driving it into her side.

His gaze never once left hers.

"Where is he?" Ian managed, blood slowly drying on his face. "Where's Declan…Emily?" He hovered above her, the action _oh_ so familiar. "Tell me…tell me." She fell back completely, every once and a while issuing an agonized gasp. "Where is he? Emily, tell me where he is," he begged, the look in his eyes desperate. She had seen that very same look many times before, each when he had pleaded with her to be his wife.

They had come a long way since then.

"No," she said breathily, closing her eyes as she tried to shut out the pain.

It wasn't working.

Hearing gunshots and the sound of a body hitting the floor, Ian sprung to his feet and ran out the door, leaving Emily to die a slow and painful death.

_You coward! _she wanted to scream. _You can't even stay behind and fight like a true man._

But, lacking the energy to even open her eyes, she said nothing, letting out a strangled moan as another intense wave of pain shot through her body.

"I got her!" she heard soon after, the voice sounding so familiar. "I got her in the basement on the south side. I need a medic!" Then, "Prentiss," the voice gasped.

"Morgan?" Her eyes fluttered open slightly, just enough to see her partner leaning by her side.

"Hey. It's me, I'm right here," he assured, his voice unbelievably soothing. "You're going to be alright. Stay with me, baby, come on. Stay with me," he begged, taking her hands in his as her eyes fell shut yet again.

"Let me go." The words fell from her lips softly, earnestly.

"No. No, I am _not_ letting you go. _Help me!_" he screamed to anyone who would hear. "Listen to me, I know why you did all of this. I know what you did for Declan. I'm so proud of you," he said sincerely, pouring his heart out to her. "Do you understand that? I am proud of you because you are my friend, and you are my partner," he told her, his heart wrenching as he saw the tears in her eyes, the never ending pool of blood steadily growing around her. Her eyes fell shut once more, this time against her will. "No, Emily! Come on, stay with me. If you can hear me, please, just squeeze my hand."

Using all the strength she could muster, Emily held onto Morgan's hands like a lifeline.

"Yes, th- there you go, there you go, baby. _Just keep squeezing._"

And as nearly everything around her faded into that proverbial black nothingness, Emily was able to focus on one thought, and one thought only.

_I won._

**THE END.**

* * *

_Dedicated to the beautiful, captivating, extremely talented, and - in short - TOTALLY AMAZING actress, Paget Brewster. May she have all the luck possible in the future of her career_. _She left behind a simply magical legacy on Criminal Minds, and she will forever be remembered as the kick-ass, sassy and witty FBI agent we all know and love._

(But I can't wait to see My Life as an Experiment!)


End file.
